


He Has High Aspirations

by cadoodle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2563574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadoodle/pseuds/cadoodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stiles,” he starts, stapling his hands in front of him. Stiles is pretty sure he’s hiding a grin. “Did you just say you could see yourself doing my son?”</p>
<p>            “Dad!” Derek protests as Stiles sputters.</p>
<p>            “No, no, I can’t!” He says, which, lie. Such a lie, and he hopes his voice doesn’t go squeaky but Mr. Hale is definitely 100% grinning now, and fuck, Stiles really, really wanted this job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Has High Aspirations

            To be perfectly honest, Stiles still isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing here. He’s about ready to start yanking on his collar until he remembers the fairly fresh hickeys still lining his neck. Also, could he be any more obvious? Yanking the collar must be the most obvious display of how close he is to peeing his pants. Definitely.

            “Thank you for making it on such short notice, Stiles.” Says Mr. Hale from behind the desk. Stiles bites back a nervous (and frankly bewildered) laugh, because what? Stiles has all the time in the world. Stiles has had nothing _but_ time, since Stiles graduated from undergrad and moved back in with his Dad. Stiles is the one who should be thanking Mr. Hale. 

            “It was no problem,” He says with a sharp grin, mentally cringing. Now he sounds arrogant. He sounds arrogant, doesn’t he? Damn it he’s definitely channeling Jackson too hard, no matter what Lydia advised.

            Still, Mr. Hale doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, Stiles can tell you for a fact that Mr. Hale is hella chill, as the young kids say. That or he was incredibly intoxicated the night he offered Stiles a job interview, which is pretty plausible considering how intoxicated Stiles was.

            Ah yes, the charity ball. Specifically, the charity ball three days ago. More specifically, the Deputy’s Annual charity ball that Stiles’ Dad had been hosting. The Charity Ball in which Stiles got Royally Smashed, spoke to Stephen Hale, CEO of Hale Incorporated, Biggest Donor of the Night, and Overall Very Very Very Important Person on the finer aspects of herb gardens, and _yes_ he means herbs like thyme and parsley, fuck off, he’s been at home for a long time and he needed a project –

            And somehow he had gotten offered a job interview. With the Head Honcho himself, even though the job he was applying for was just for visual design, but the opportunities alone are numerous and amazing and he loves graphics, knows he’ll love the job if he can just get the interview-

            He had been pretty sure it was all a dream until he got a call the next morning from Ms. Tate, Mr. Hale’s secretary, wanting to schedule the appointment. Then it was clambering downstairs in a half-heart pounding daze, only to realize when his father grimaced he was still only in boxers and, well, covered in bruises.

            _Good_ bruises, though his dad, a little green, probably did not agree. 

            Which of course, brings him to the second part of what is easily turning into the Greatest Night of All Nights for Stiles.

            “So, Stiles, what do you see yourself doing in ten years?” Mr. Hale asks, leaning back, and oh, Stiles has got this. Stiles did not have Scott dress up in last year’s Christmas Suit (“it maintains the illusion, Scott!”) and ask him these questions on a flashcard for nothing. Stiles is going to _nail this._

“Well, Sir, I see myself doing-“

            “Sorry to interrupt-“ Someone says, opening the door, and Stiles turns to see none other than to see his Magnificent Charity Ball Night Stand standing in the doorway.

            “Derek.” He says, the name just falling off his lips, because he’s not good at controlling himself, and Derek was…memorable. Not just for the hickeys, either. Derek looks at him, his own face paling, and seems to just manage to keep hold of his papers. Mr. Hale “ahems” quietly behind him, and when Stiles turns back Mr. Hale looks positively gleeful and Stiles no longer feels safe.

            “Stiles,” he starts, stapling his hands in front of him. Stiles is pretty sure he’s hiding a grin. “Did you just say you could see yourself doing my son?”

            “Dad!” Derek protests as Stiles sputters.

            “No, no, I can’t!” He says, which, _lie._ Such a lie, and he hopes his voice doesn’t go squeaky but Mr. Hale is definitely 100% grinning now, and fuck, Stiles really, _really_ wanted this job. 

            And god, Derek Hale? _Really?_ The same guy he jerked off in a bathroom stall, pants only halfway down their thighs because Stiles had been very eager and way too sloppy, that guy? The guy he had actually gotten off with while apparently not one but _both_ of their fathers were two floors up, that guy? 

            He resists the urge to slap a hand over his hickeys, just remembering, and Derek seems to remember too, based on the way his eyes narrow and he shifts against the doorway a little. Stiles almost squeaks, because what? No! Not here!

            Mr. Hale actually looks a little uncomfortable now, nose scrunching as if he’s smelt something bad, and Stiles wants to sink into his chair, melt into a puddle and roll out the door.

            “Alright, Derek, why don’t you drop those off with Malia, instead. And yes-“ He says, holding up a hand before Derek can speak, “I know they’re important. Malia can take care of them.” Derek’s brow furrows, but he obeys without a word and without another glance at Stiles, who feels strangely bereft.

            “Um, sorry about that.” He mutters. Mr. Hale chuckles.

            “My son interrupted us, Stiles, why are _you_ apologizing?” He asks. Stiles flushes bright red, and sits up straighter. Any professional atmosphere is lost though, and he almost whimpers as Mr. Hale turns the topic towards more mundane things, asking how the herb garden is doing, and so on. He picks out a few bits of Stiles background – previous work experience that Stiles tries to fit in as much as possible, but it’s too casual.

            Mr. Hale never asks how Stiles knows Derek.

            “How’d it go?” Scott says, opening the door to Stiles’ home. Stiles groans and smacks his hand away from the doorframe, heading in and slumping against the couch. He hears Scott’s footsteps pause, before rushing away and back. A bowl of doritos is stuffed under Stiles’ nose, and he hides a sniffle in his sleeve before reaching out and grabbing a bunch. 

\--

            He gets the job and cries like a little girl.

\--

            He gets the job and sees Derek pretty often, actually, which-

            “What?” He says, and Boyd, his coworker, flashes him a grin. “Getting cozy with Hale Junior?” He asks, not maliciously, but Stiles pales because _yeah, he totally is._ It’s been weeks and he sees how others could see it, Derek casually leaning against his desk and bringing him coffee once in a while, always chatting with him about his day and giving him a shy smile every now and then.

            He storms into Derek’s office, five floors up from Stiles, and he definitely should’ve noticed that except he never goes to see Derek, Derek always comes to him.

            “Okay, dude, I need to know if your Dad hired me because you want to get up in all this,” he says, and plows on as Derek gapes, “because I wanted this job on my own merit, and yea, you are hot like burning and I bet people don’t say no to you often, but this is me. Saying no. Because I really love this job, and-“

            “Good to hear, Stiles.” Someone says from behind him, sitting in the _chair_ behind him, and he turns to see Mr. Hale, smirking like a goddamn fiend. _Again._

“And to soothe all your worries, of course I hired you based on your merit.” He stands up, stretches a little. “And actually, workplace relationships are frowned upon here at Hale Incorporated, so if my son does want to ‘get up on all that’-“ Stiles can’t tell who’s more mortified, Derek or him, “-he’s probably rather miserable, actually.” Is it just him or does Derek growl a little? Hale Senior bids them both farewell and slips out and then it is dead silent.

            “Um.”

            “You thought I asked my Dad to hire you so that I could have sex with you in the office?” Derek asks, and when you put it like that- “Stiles, you’re not a prostitute!”

            “I know I’m not, I’m sorry, it’s just-“ Stiles flails his arms at Derek. “Look at you! You could have anyone you want but instead you keep coming downstairs and, and you work five floors up Derek, why do you see me everyday, why do you keep talking to me-“

            “Maybe I like talking to you.” Derek grits out. Stiles flushes bright red, against his will, because that is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to him and with the no-dating ban in place Derek probably means it, means that he does like talking to Stiles, and it’s all stupid because nothing can happen anyway. Nothing can happen, and Derek takes an aborted step towards him before sighing, shifting behind his desk.

            “You should go.” He says. Stiles does, trying to stifle the part of him that wishes that something would.

\--

            Derek stops visiting him.

\--

            He’s searching up Derek’s name like a total creeper, an action he tries to restrict to once a day at most when a new headline pops up.

            “Boyd, is this real?” He whispers, and Boyd rolls over (and they totally did _not_ have a chair race on his floor, no matter what HR claims) and nods.

            “Oh yep, I heard about that.” He says nonchalantly, as if he is not realizing how much he is changing Stiles’ life at this very moment.

            Because Derek is transferring, heading over to work as head consultant on his sister’s branch of the company, which means-

            Stiles slumps in his chair as Boyd squeakily scoots away. It means not only will Stiles not be dating a now very dateable Derek Hale, but he won’t even get the pleasure of a few short sightings in the lobby and cafeteria every now and then.

            Derek is leaving for New York.

\--

            Stiles sneaks into the going-away party. Well that’s a lie, actually, because he finds an invitation on his desk with all the details, even though it definitely can’t be his, but he’s going to pretend, damnit!

            He shifts in his suit and tie, and scans the crowd, not really recognizing anyone from this floor beyond when he attends a conference or two. He doesn’t know what to say when someone approaches him, but Derek apparently does, in his element. He works the crowd like Hale Senior, who Stiles is 75% sure spotted him at one point before decidedly looking the other way. Stiles takes the boon for what it is and scurries past the bar, not sure whether he wants to go towards Derek or away from Derek. Hell, why is he even here? What does he have left to say, after insinuating Derek wanted to sleep with him, _and_ turning him down in the same breath?

            That now he wants to sleep with Derek? How _compelling._

            He decides to leave just as a hand clamps down on his shoulder, and he looks into the face of the smiling and ever-beautiful Laura Hale. Seriously, this family has produced some gorgeous children.

            “Hello there. You smell like doritos.” What?

            “What?” Stiles asks, and Laura sighs. “I assume you’re Stiles, then.” She says, as if that makes any more sense.

            “Well, yea, but-“ Stiles says, trying to surreptitiously smell his neck. He smells like doritos? Really? He put on cologne today and everything!

            “Oh don’t worry,” Laura says, patting him on the back with a stunning but no less evil smile than that of Hale Senior. “It definitely appeals to some people.” She says pointedly over his shoulder.

            “Laura.” Derek hisses behind Stiles, and he goes stiff.

            “Nice to meet you, Stiles! Come visit sometime!” She walks away, the crowd parting for her like the red sea.

            Before Stiles can even turn, Derek is grabbing him by the shoulder and into a side office. He curls his hands in Stiles’ jacket before stalking away, going over to stand in the other side of the room. 

            “What are you doing here?” he says, voice low.

            “I miss talking to you.” Stiles blurts out, and oh _no._ Why didn’t he plan for this, why didn’t he consult Lydia, first? Derek’s expression only grows darker.

            “Sorry I’m not there to provide entertainment, anymore. Talk to someone else.” Derek says, and no no no, this is wrong.

            “Derek, no, man. I didn’t mean it like that.” He really didn’t. “I liked talking to you, I did, I was just scared because I wanted this job so bad, man, and I wanted to believe I’d deserved it, but if you had put in a good word for me, out of I dunno, shame, or obligation-“

            “I don’t owe you anything Stiles.” Derek says, slowly. “Nor am I ashamed of you.”

            “Well I figured, but I was still confused because you’re like, perfect, the perfect package, and I’m not-“

            Derek groans. “I don’t give a flying fuck, Stiles. We’re not in medieval times, you get to be smart and funny and cute, and I get to be attracted to you, regardless of our ‘social status’.”

            Stiles flushes again, heart pounding. 

            “Stop that!” Derek snaps, taking him in.

            “Stop what?” Stiles asks, but Derek doesn’t appear to be listening. His head flicks up and to the side, like a dog, and he looks through the wall as if he can see the people on the other side. He mutters something and stomps forward, grabbing Stiles’ hand. 

            “Come on.” He grumbles, and pulls him out the door and towards the elevator, away from the party. They stand in awkward silence and the door opens to Stiles’ floor, empty and dark at this time of night, and then they’re at his desk and Derek stands in front of him, arms crossed.

            “Why did we come down here?” Stiles asks. Derek shifts, and doesn’t answer.

            “So…I’ve been an asshole.” He says. Derek makes no sound of disagreement. “And I’m gonna say sorry, and I hope you have a great time in New York-“

            “I’m not going to New York.” Derek interrupts. Stiles would be offended except-

            “You’re not?”

            “I’m not.” Derek says, firmly. “My uncle Peter is taking over in New York. Laura’s settling here, in the building next door. That,” He waves his hand up, in the direction of the party upstairs, “is just for show.”

            “Oh.” Stiles says, because he’s pretty sure no one knows that, and he’s just been told something very confidential.

            “So, you’re not leaving?” He asks hesitantly. Derek shakes his head, and Stiles beams at him like an idiot. Derek stares at him, shaking his head. 

            “You _are_ an asshole.” Derek says, sweeping forward and kissing him. 

            “ _Such_ an asshole.” Stiles agrees, between kisses. “I’m the goddamn _worst_.”


End file.
